


a degree of fallenness

by MistressEast



Series: After Hours at Leblanc [10]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Banter, Delinquent!Akira, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Frottage, Lap Sex, M/M, Riding, Roleplay, School Uniforms, Topping from the Bottom, bottom!Goro, brief mention of noncon fantasies, no spoilers but the scene ends in an unconventional way, student council vice president!Goro, top!Akira
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:33:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25195489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistressEast/pseuds/MistressEast
Summary: “Call me Akira.” Akira inches his hand a little higher. “I think we should get to know each other a little better.”“Do you, now.” Akechi reaches back and snags Akira’s wrist. “How much better.”Smirking, Akira sits up and brings his free hand to hover over Akechi’s hip, just barely skimming the hem of his dark blazer. “As much as you want, Akechi-san.”“And why—” Akechi’s bangs shadow his eyes as he looks down at Akira, “—do you think I want to get to know you at all?”Akira tips his head back, meeting Akechi’s gaze steadily. “Why else would you invite me here after hours? All alone?”
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira
Series: After Hours at Leblanc [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1714768
Comments: 13
Kudos: 370





	a degree of fallenness

**Author's Note:**

> title is from this:
> 
> In all memory there is a degree of fallenness; we are all exiles from our own pasts, just as, on looking up from a book, we discover anew our banishment from the bright worlds of imagination and fantasy.  
> -John Lanchester, from The Debt to Pleasure
> 
> this one is pretty straight-forward! i finished it at the same time as the bondage piece but wanted to space them out a little. hope you enjoy!

Akira raps his knuckles against the door and immediately feels foolish. Who knocks on the student council room door? It’s basically a public space.

Nevertheless, a calm voice answers from inside: “Come in.”

Gritting his teeth, Akira swings the door open and steps inside.

The student council vice president is the only one in the room, standing over some documents on the central table, backlit by the fiery evening light shining through the window behind him. He looks up as Akira enters. “Ah, Kurusu-kun, I’ve been expecting you.” Akechi doesn’t sound annoyed, but he doesn’t look particularly pleased, flashing the same rehearsed smile Akira sees him wear all the time. “Go ahead and have a seat.” He nods at the chair pulled up to the table. “I’m just finishing this up. I’ll be done in a second.”

Resisting the urge to ask why Akechi requested to see him if he’s clearly busy with something else, Akira crosses to the table and drops into the chair, setting his bag beside him on the floor.

Across from him, Akechi leans over the documents, focused intently on whatever he’s reading. As Akira watches, he extends one pale hand and delicately moves the page onto the leftmost of two stacks, turning his attention to the one underneath it. Like always, he looks perfectly composed, uniform neat and buttoned up, hair pulled into a low ponytail. It’s gotten a little longer recently, Akira muses absently, the longest ends brushing Akechi’s shoulders when he turns his head. He’ll probably get it trimmed soon and return to school as polished and prim as ever.

After a few beats of silence, Akira’s restlessness gets the better of him and he starts tapping his foot softly against the floor. Being summoned by the student council vice president isn’t nothing. Akechi has a reputation for being as strict as he is handsome, and Akira was advised to stay off his radar. Apparently, he was unsuccessful.

Finally, Akechi sorts the last of his documents and straightens up with a smile. “Thank you for waiting, and for coming to meet me. I know you probably have...other things to be doing.”

Akira doesn’t like the knowing glint in Akechi’s eyes. “Not really,” he replies with a shrug.

“I see. Regardless, I’ll keep this brief.”

“What’s this about?”

Akechi reaches for a manila folder at his side and takes it in both hands. “I wanted to speak with you, Kurusu-kun. Personally.”

A faint thrill runs up Akira’s spine. “Did I do something?”

“No. At least, nothing I can prove.” Akechi laughs, airy and gentle. “I just realized that you and I have never spoken directly. You’ve met with Niijima-san, of course, but we seem to keep—” his eyes flash, “—missing each other.”

Akira lounges in his chair, propping one elbow on the rigid backrest. “I’ve been keeping my head down. Like everyone told me to.”

“Well, that’s debatable.” Akechi taps the folder against the table, roving his gaze down the slope of Akira’s torso. “Kamoshida-sensei certainly seemed to have it out for you for some reason. Before...well, you know.”

When he flicks his eyes back up, Akira catches and holds them. “If you’ve got something to say, then say it.”

“No need to sound so suspicious, Kurusu-kun.” Akechi’s smile finally sharpens out of its typical pleasant curve. “I promise I didn’t call you here to antagonize you.”

“Then get to the point.”

“Of course.” Akechi tilts his head. “To be honest, Kurusu-kun, I’m embarrassed by how you’ve been treated at Shujin so far. We’re supposed to pride ourselves on offering guidance to our students, but as far as I can tell, the only advice you’ve been given so far is exactly what you said: to keep your head down.” He clicks his tongue. “That simply won’t do. I don’t want you thinking that this school doesn’t care.”

“I’m not bothered.”

“ _I_ am.” With a stern look, Akechi paces around the table to stand beside Akira, his polished loafers tapping smartly on the hardwood, and Akira’s entire right side bristles as Akechi enters his radius. “Something that Shujin does for second and third year students is connect them with mentorship and internship opportunities,” Akechi continues briskly, placing the folder down in front of Akira and flipping it open. “Usually, recommendations like this would come through your teachers, but you’re obviously a bit of a special case.” Glancing down at Akira, he spreads a few of the pages inside the folder across the table. “So I took the liberty of compiling a few options, based on your academic performance so far.”

“You checked my grades?”

“Just a peek.”

“Scandalous.”

“Well—” Akechi tucks a loose lock of hair behind his ear, “—I’ve never been above a little rule breaking if it gets the proper results.” He casts Akira another sharp look. “We’re similar in that regard.”

Akira gazes back impassively.

“Setting that aside—” Akechi leans over the table, pointing at one of the papers, “—these are the positions I think would best fit you. Obviously there’s no pressure to choose one, but I do think it would greatly benefit your future prospects—”

He goes on, rambling astutely about a local doctor seeking assistants, a journalist interested in mentoring new talent, and even a Diet politician looking for an intern, but Akira barely hears him.

All of his attention is tangled up Akechi’s slim frame hovering just inches away, the sliver of skin visible over the top of Akechi’s turtleneck, the long lines of Akechi’s legs—

Akira always thought the Shujin plaid was pretty ugly, but Akechi really makes it work. Almost too well.

Draped as he is in his chair, it only takes a slight movement of his arm to tap his finger against the back of Akechi’s thigh. It’s light, barely a whisper of his fingernail against fabric, and Akechi doesn’t react, continuing on blithely.

So Akira does it again. A little firmer this time, dragging the tip of his finger delicately up Akechi’s thigh, just far enough to be unmistakable. This time, Akechi does falter, the smooth stream of his words hitching. But he doesn’t turn, and he quickly regains his flow, flipping over one of the papers to point out something about working for the Diet.

A low heat curls through Akira and his heart throbs in excitement, speeding up as he slides his hand forward all the way, boldly fitting his palm around the inside of Akechi’s thigh.

Akechi can’t ignore that. His voice trails off and his spine goes rigid. Sharp eyes cut over his shoulder at Akira. “What exactly do you think you’re doing, Kurusu-kun?”

Akira raises his eyebrows innocently. “I don’t know. What _am_ I doing, Akechi-san?”

“Kurusu-kun—”

“Call me Akira.” Akira inches his hand a little higher. “I think we should get to know each other a little better.”

“Do you, now.” Akechi reaches back and snags Akira’s wrist. “How much better.”

Smirking, Akira sits up and brings his free hand to hover over Akechi’s hip, just barely skimming the hem of his dark blazer. “As much as you want, Akechi-san.”

“And why—” Akechi’s bangs shadow his eyes as he looks down at Akira, “—do you think I want to get to know you at all?”

Akira tips his head back, meeting Akechi’s gaze steadily. “Why else would you invite me here after hours? All alone?”

“Clearly your listening comprehension skills need work; I was just explaining about—” Akechi breaks off on a yelp as Akira frees his wrist and grabs him around the waist, tugging him closer.

“I appreciate your concern, Vice President—” Akira presses his face into the small of Akechi’s back, nuzzling at the stiff fabric of his jacket, “—but I can think of a few things I need more than an internship.”

“This is—highly inappropriate—”

“Say the word, and I’ll let go.” Akira pauses, alert for any sign of rejection, grip loose enough to shake off.

But Akechi doesn’t move beyond a sharp inhale, quivering just slightly against Akira, and Akira smiles crookedly.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” He kneads his thumbs into the muscles of Akechi’s lower back, breathing in and catching the clean notes of Akechi’s detergent, warmed at the edges by what can only be Akechi’s natural scent. “You’re probably too busy to take care of yourself.”

“Don’t act like you know anything,” Akechi scolds, but his voice is undeniably breathless, and when Akira digs into a particularly tight knot at the base of his spine, he nearly melts into the touch.

Akira hums, scooting forward to stretch his hands farther around Akechi’s waist. “You’re right—I really don’t know much about you, Vice President. Just what everyone else says about you.” He mouths at the faint knobs of Akechi’s spine through his uniform blazer. “I guess you wouldn’t have much reason to consort with a delinquent like me,” he murmurs into the fabric.

“That’s right. We—we’ve all been advised to stay away from you—”

“And you still called me here today.” Akira slips one hand around to press flat against Akechi’s stomach, inching his pinkie past Akechi’s waistband. “That’s not really _staying away_ —”

“Yes, but that’s because—”

Akira pulls suddenly, jerking Akechi off-balance, and Akechi lands heavily in his lap, gasping.

“Kurusu—!”

“Don’t pretend—” Akira noses at the nape of Akechi’s neck, using both hands to draw Akechi against him, back to chest. “ _This_ is what you had in mind when you called me.”

“Well, aren’t you full of yourself—” Instead of trying to get away, Akechi reaches back and seizes a handful of Akira’s curls, twisting his head to fix Akira with gleaming whiskey eyes. “As if I’d ever want to do something like this with criminal trash like _you_.”

Smirking, Akira roves one hand up Akechi’s chest, fingering the buttons holding his blazer closed. “Are those your _true_ feelings, Vice President Akechi? What happened to all of that stuff about wanting to help me?”

“If you’re going to be ungrateful, why should I bother?”

“Interesting.” Akira lets his other hand slip between Akechi’s thighs, just skimming the front of his slacks. “But I’m not ungrateful. I do appreciate everything you’re trying to do.”

“Yeah, right.” Akechi grinds down sharply in Akira’s lap and Akira sucks in a breath at the harsh pressure against his dick. “As if this isn’t the only thing you’ve been thinking about since you walked in.”

“Hypocrite.” Akira flicks Akechi’s buttons open, dipping his hand into Akechi’s waistband to tug his shirt free, as best he can with Akechi’s suspenders still attached.

“Cocky little—”

Yanking Akechi tight against himself, Akira ruts up, pressing the hard bulge of his cock into the cleft of Akechi’s ass, and Akechi hisses in a breath. “You were saying?”

Flashing a glare over his shoulder, Akechi squirms deliberately, tugging on Akira’s hair. “I was _saying_ you’re being awfully arrogant for someone in your position.”

“My position?” Finally succeeding in untucking Akechi’s shirt, Akira wastes no time getting his hands on the warm skin of Akechi’s bare sides, digging his fingers in. “What’s that, exactly?”

“You know that—a word from me could get you expelled—” Akechi drops his head back as Akira ruchs his shirt up and brushes his fingertips over his nipples. “And you’re still—”

“I just can’t help myself,” Akira admits. “When I see you, all I can think about is how you’d look around my cock.”

Akechi shudders.

“Makes assemblies really awkward,” Akira breathes before licking over the shell of Akechi’s ear.

“You—barely know me, why—”

“Maybe I just want to fuck the guy everyone’s so scared of.” Akira presses his hand against the tented front of Akechi’s pants and Akechi jerks in his lap. “And what about you?”

“What?”

“It’s not like you know me either, but—” Akira tweaks a nipple in illustration, “—you’re letting me do this.”

“ _Hm—_ ” Akechi bucks against Akira’s touch. “Maybe I just want to fuck the guy everyone’s so scared of.”

Akira huffs out a laugh, running his palm down the hard line of Akechi’s clothed erection. Akechi rolls his head forward, moaning, and Akira’s eyes fall on the thin, flushed stripe showing between his turtleneck and his hairline. His ponytail is swept to the side, hanging over his shoulder and baring the delicate pink of his skin to Akira’s hungry gaze. Unable to resist, Akira buries his nose in Akechi’s nape, grazing his teeth along the sensitive flesh.

Akechi’s breath catches, before he bears down more aggressively on Akira’s lap. “No need to be gentle.”

In response, Akira tilts his head and bites hard around the slender tendons tracing into Akechi’s hairline and Akechi jolts like he’s being electrocuted, tightening his grip on Akira’s hair and grabbing at the arm around his chest. Akira sucks hard, partially out of spite, partially to satisfy his desire to mar Akechi’s smooth, unblemished skin.

“Bastard—” Akechi gasps. “How am—I going to hide that at school tomorrow?”

“Don’t.” Akira licks over the faint teeth marks, knowing that soon the whole area will be bruised and obvious. “Let everyone know the perfect vice president is getting exactly what he wants.” To emphasize, Akira cups Akechi’s erection roughly. “It’ll drive them _crazy_.”

“Don’t exaggerate.” Akechi angles a crimson glare back at Akira. “And stop pawing at me. If you’re going to do something, _do it_.”

“Yes, sir,” Akira responds breathlessly. Unwinding his arms, he takes Akechi by the hips and urges him to his feet. “Stand up for a minute—”

Akechi goes willingly and Akira instantly misses his weight but shakes it off in favor of the anticipation flipping in his stomach for what’s to come.

“Stand right there,” Akira orders, keeping Akechi in front of himself.

Legs spread, Akechi leans forward to brace against the table, presenting his ass in a way that makes Akira’s mouth go dry. “Do you even know what to do back there, Kurusu?” Akechi asks snidely, glancing over his shoulder.

Swallowing with effort, Akira ducks down to grab something out of the front pocket of his bag. “What happened to my honorific?”

“I think we’re past that.”

“But you won’t use my first name?” The small bottle of lube fits easily in his palm, leaving Akira’s fingers free to reach around and fiddle with Akechi’s fly. “So cold.”

“Cry me a river.”

Akira flips the clasps attaching Akechi’s suspenders to the front of his waistband and yanks Akechi’s pants down roughly, as far as they’ll go before getting caught around his spread thighs. The suspenders slither over Akechi’s shoulders and fall to hang between his calves. “Oh, I definitely will later.” When he kneads one hand into the firm muscle of Akechi’s ass, Akechi makes a sound low in his throat, which pitches up as Akira deliberately skates the backs of his fingers down to his balls. Slipping between Akechi’s legs, Akira wraps his hand around Akechi’s erection, feeling up and down the hot, silky skin.

“ _Fuck_ —” Akechi’s hips twitch into Akira’s grip and he hangs his head, hair escaping from his ponytail and swinging forward to shield his face. “Don’t—don’t do that—I’m—”

“Close already?” Akira keeps his touch gentle, dragging his fingertips down the length. “Just from a little petting?”

“Like you can talk—” Akechi knocks his foot against Akira’s ankle. “I felt how hard you were as soon as you forced me into your lap.” He curls his hands into fists on the table as Akira strokes again. “ _Degenerate._ You’ve been hard since you walked in, haven’t you?”

“Yeah,” Akira admits, withdrawing his hand in favor of popping the cap on the lube. “I have.”

“Filthy.”

“I can’t help the effect you have on me.” Akira heads off whatever biting retort Akechi is brewing by squeezing the lube directly over his ass and letting it drip between his cheeks. “Maybe you should do something about how hot you are.”

Akechi swears vehemently, jerking at the cool liquid now tracing glistening lines down the backs of his thighs. “You’re making a mess!”

“I’m about to make an even bigger mess.” Skimming his hands up Akechi’s ass, Akira gathers a decent amount of lube on his fingers and swipes over his hole. It twitches at the touch and Akira’s dick throbs in response. “That okay?”

“Get on with it, Kurusu. We don’t have all day.”

“They were right about you being bossy.” But Akira doesn’t waste time dipping his finger inside, pushing steadily past the initial clutch, until he’s three knuckles deep in the tight heat of Akechi’s ass.

Akechi lets out a steady breath, shifting down onto his elbows. “Who’s _they_?”

“Come on, you know what the student body says about you.” Akira slides his finger almost completely out before pushing it back in, circling it to loosen the muscles. He can feel Akechi trying to relax around the intrusion and runs his free hand soothingly up his back, shoving his shirt and jacket out of the way. “I can’t get away from the rumors.”

“Rumors?” Akechi repeats, a little strangled. “Do—do enlighten me.”

“Oh, you know—” Carefully, Akira lines up a second finger and works it in alongside the first, spreading the lube inside as much as he can, “—as soon as I transferred, people started warning me about the strict—” he scissors his fingers, eliciting a soft noise, “—ruthless—” a third finger slips in, pumping in and out wetly, “—beautiful student council vice president.”

Akechi sways back on his fingers, clenching as each thrust goes a little deeper than before. “Meaningless—gossip— _ah—_ ”

Crooking his fingers, Akira grabs Akechi by the thigh as his legs start to buckle. “Not completely meaningless—they’ve got some stuff right.”

“Oh, _god—_ ”

“Stay away from Akechi-san, Kurusu,” Akira mimics, nudging deliberately at Akechi’s prostate. “He’s a _tyrant_. He’s just waiting for an excuse to get you _expelled_ —”

“Excuse me?” Akechi picks his head up to glare over his shoulder, treating Akira to a view of his blush-stained cheeks. “Do people actually think I would be so spiteful?”

“Are you saying they’re wrong?”

“Of course they’re wrong!” Despite the three fingers in his ass, Akechi manages to look righteously furious. “The thought that I would discriminate against someone for no reason—!”

“You’re too straitlaced for that, hm?”

“This has nothing to do with rules, this is a matter of morality!”

Akira licks his lips. “This dirty talk is really winding me up, Akechi-san.”

With a disgusted huff, Akechi hangs his head between his bunched shoulders, hiding his face from Akira again.

“Well, if everyone knew what kind of person you _really_ are, I’m sure those rumors would die down,” Akira muses, hooking the thumb of his free hand just inside Akechi’s rim and tugging, spreading him obscenely around Akira’s pumping fingers. Akechi bites back a yelp. “But there are rumors about this too, you know.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” Akechi spits, rocking backward. “One day I’m an arrogant prude, and the next I’m a shameless slut, right?”

“Exactly.” Pressing down one last time to feel Akechi clench around him, Akira draws his fingers out. Akechi’s hole winks at him, glistening with lube. “I’ve heard all sorts of crude speculation on your love life. All the girls would be disappointed to know the truth, though.”

“If you _ever_ breathe a word about this—”

“Don’t worry. I’m keeping this to myself.” Heedless of the lube coating his fingers, Akira unzips his fly and frees his aching erection. Even the sensation of his own hand is enough to make Akira’s stomach muscles tense, heat spiking through him. “This is too good to share.”

He takes Akechi by the hips and pulls him backwards. Akechi goes without resistance, allowing himself to be poised right above Akira’s cock and reaching back to take hold of the backrest behind Akira’s shoulders.

Keeping one hand on the base of his dick to hold it steady, Akira squeezes Akechi’s waist. “Go on.”

“Aren’t you being too impertinent?”

“Do you want me to fuck you or not?”

“Disrespectful—” Akechi mutters under his breath even as he lowers himself inexorably onto Akira’s lap.

Akira bites his lip to keep himself quiet at the sensation of his cockhead nudging past Akechi’s rim and he glances down to watch his shaft sink into Akechi’s body. Above him, Akechi hisses in a breath, shoving downward and taking another few slick inches.

“Can you take it all at once?” Akira asks breathlessly.

“Are you goading me?” Akechi shoots back, all fire and steel despite his undignified position.

“I’m just making sure—” Akira breaks off, choking on his words as Akechi slams down on his lap, swallowing the rest of his length in one sharp motion, and they both moan.

“Does—does that answer your question?” Akechi pants, squirming and dragging another strained moan out of Akira’s mouth.

Hands tightening on Akechi’s hips, Akira curls forward and presses his forehead to Akechi’s back, feeling sweat prickle up his spine. “You’re—so mean for someone with a dick in his ass.”

“Have to keep you in line.” Perched on Akira’s lap, Akechi’s feet can’t completely reach the floor, so his leverage is limited, but he grinds down, shifting Akira inside of him.

Akira flinches, heat tingling down to his fingertips, and bucks his hips up in retaliation.

“ _Mm—_ ” Bowing forward, Akechi grabs the table again for stability. “I’ve heard the—rumors about you too, of course—how you’re a brawler, how you killed a man to join the Yakuza, or—or your assault was an initiation into an underground fighting ring—”

“Oh, I can only imagine what else you’ve heard.” Akira scoots his weight closer to the edge of the chair, allowing Akechi to plant his feet more firmly on the ground. “The students here aren’t exactly—” he shoves up and Akechi jolts, the table thumping with the sudden motion, “— _quiet_.”

Grunting, Akechi rises a bit, Akira’s cock sliding about halfway out, and Akira shudders as sparks dance behind his eyes. “Your personal file getting leaked certainly didn’t help.”

“So that’s what happened,” Akira mutters darkly before yanking Akechi back onto his cock.

“ _Ah!_ ”

“And you had nothing to do with that, I presume?” Akira asks through gritted teeth, grinding viciously into the throbbing clutch of Akechi’s body.

“Of—of course not!” Akechi snaps. “It was in my interests to keep your record a secret too! But I—can’t control everyone in this school—”

“Didn’t want anyone to know you’d taken in a criminal?” Akira guides Akechi up again before pulling him back down sharply, setting a quick pace. In this position, he can only thrust shallowly, but he makes every one count, forcing Akechi all the way onto his dick with each roll of his hips.

It takes Akechi a second to answer, body rocking with Akira’s motions, hitched, breathy noises spilling from his lips. “Kurusu—think what you want of me, but—” as Akira slams him backwards, he sends a heated look over his shoulder, “—I believe—you have the right to share or—or not share your story. That’s no one’s choice but—yours—” groaning, he drops his head again. “I’m—sorry someone took that from you.”

A strange, ticklish warmth ignites in Akira’s chest, glowing somewhere in the vicinity of his heart, and his breath stalls in his lungs. When his pace falters, Akechi takes over without missing a beat, gripping the edge of the table and using it to lever himself up and down. The table sways noisily in front of them, legs scraping against the floor with each jolt.

“Don’t fall asleep back there, Kurusu—” Akechi seats himself completely and circles his hips, spearing pleasure directly into Akira’s gut. “Either keep up, or I’ll find someone else to take care of me.”

That snaps Akira out of his momentary haze and he digs his fingers into Akechi’s sides, bucking up into Akechi’s next drop. Akechi yelps, spine going rigid, and Akira uses his distraction to snag him by the collar and tug him back.

“Ugh—” Akechi’s back hits Akira’s chest with a muffled thud and he clutches at the arm Akira winds around his waist. The angle drops him fully onto Akira’s cock and Akira bites back a moan as Akechi’s walls clench around him. “Kurusu—!”

Akira grinds upward, cutting him off, and Akechi’s head falls back, his muscles tensing. Releasing his collar, Akira reaches for one of Akechi’s legs and hooks his hand under Akechi’s knee. Fortunately, it looks like Akechi’s pants slid all the way off at some point during their activities, allowing Akira to pull his leg up, spreading him obscenely and giving Akira enough room to rock partially out.

Akechi is a helpless passenger, pinned to Akira’s lap as Akira pistons in and out, and, honestly, the position is hard on Akira’s lower back, but the way Akechi squirms against him is so sweet, he finds he couldn’t care less.

“You’re all bark—” he hisses into Akechi’s ear, hitching his leg up higher. Even in this awkward tangle, it’s obvious that Akechi is really flexible; Akira meets almost no resistance when he folds Akechi’s leg nearly all the way to his chest. “You don’t want _someone else_ —you’ve always wanted _me_ —you’ve always wanted to get fucked by the criminal trash—”

“You—”

“You’re lucky I came when you called today—any more waiting and you would have been begging me for it, wouldn’t you?”

“Shut—up—”

“How _cliché_ —” Akira ruts up and crushes Akechi against him, using the arm around Akechi’s waist to keep him in place as his cock spears inside, “—Vice President Akechi, all prim and put together—desperate to get railed by the new delinquent transfer student.”

Akechi gasps, chest heaving. “How—dare you— _ah—_!”

“What kind of fantasies did you concoct, hm? Maybe—being attacked after class—held down and violated until—you couldn’t think straight? Or—” Akira pulls out, toes curling at the filthy slide, then slams back inside, “—did you picture putting me in my place? Establishing your superiority?”

“You’re disgusting, I—I would never—”

Akira lets out a harsh breath. “Give it up—I know the truth. It’s written all over you—” A bead of sweat traces down the side of Akira’s face, heat sparkling up his spine as the tension in his core tightens, and he ignores the burn starting in his abs, increasing his pace. “You wanted a big, scary delinquent to come and fuck all of those important, professional thoughts out of your head, didn’t you? Mess you up until you don’t have to worry about being the perfect vice president anymore.” Akechi’s teeth clack as he grinds them together and Akira smirks. “This whole charade really wasn’t necessary, though—all you had to do was ask—actually, no—” he huffs a strangled laugh, “— _any_ hint and I would have been at your feet, Akechi-san.”

“Idiot—” Akechi struggles to turn his head, leveling Akira with glassy eyes. “How—how could I say anything? My reputation—”

Akira swallows his words with a fierce kiss, biting at Akechi’s open mouth. After a second of rigid shock, Akechi presses back, jabbing his tongue past Akira’s lips, and Akira meets him with a throaty groan. The angle can’t be easy for Akechi, craning his head back and down to stay connected, but he doesn’t indicate any discomfort, sliding their tongues together feverishly.

Dizzy with heat and the taste of Akechi’s mouth, Akira can barely maintain his rhythm, arms shaking and lower back protesting with each upward thrust. Akechi must notice something because he disengages from the kiss with an irritated huff and shoves at the arm around his waist.

“What—”

Before Akira can process what’s happening, Akechi has freed himself from his grasp and his cock suddenly meets cold air as Akechi rises unceremoniously. A firm hand fisted in his shirt yanks him upright and the world spins before he finds himself slammed flat on his back on the table. His frenzied brain finally catching up, Akira scrambles backward, planting his feet on the chair he just vacated and situating himself fully on the table as Akechi climbs over him.

“Big, scary delinquent, huh?” Akechi mocks, straddling Akira’s hips and reaching back to position Akira’s cock at his entrance, not wasting any time. “If I want to get attacked and held down, it looks like I _will_ have to go elsewhere.” He sinks onto Akira’s length in one fluid slide.

Akira moans, tipping his head back against the tabletop, pleasure coursing in waves through his body as his cock is surrounded once again by clinging, velvety heat.

“But—other than that—” Akechi lifts up before letting himself drop again, filling himself to the hilt while Akira writhes helplessly, “—you’re not _that_ bad, I suppose.”

“I’ll—treasure the compliment, Akechi-san—” Akira grabs at Akechi’s thighs, digging his fingertips into the thick muscles. “Please—call me whenever you need a good fuck.”

Scowling, Akechi sets a punishing pace, bouncing relentlessly on Akira’s cock. Akira does his best to match Akechi’s rhythm, but his muscles are useless, liquified by the merciless heat washing through him, and all he can really do is lie there and take it.

“ _Mm_ —I knew the second I saw you that—none of those rumors were true—” Akechi seats himself completely on Akira’s pelvis and grinds down, dragging a strained hiss out of Akira. “You’re not even a delinquent—just some unlucky idiot with too much compassion—” Slim fingers cup Akira’s jaw, forcing him to lock eyes with Akechi, and Akira is nearly undone by the intention simmering in Akechi’s bright gaze. “It’s obvious. Anyone who’s scared of you is a fool.”

“The truth—doesn’t matter—” Akira grinds out, fingers flexing weakly on Akechi’s thighs as Akechi circles his hips cruelly. “If—if people find out about this—”

“What? They’ll think I’m _dirty_? That you ruined me somehow?” A mean laugh bubbles out of Akechi’s mouth. “I’m surprised you care about that kind of thing, Kurusu.”

“You—your reputation—”

“Moron.” Akechi lurches forward, bracing one hand beside Akira’s head to stare directly down at him, cheeks glowing pink and eyes glittering. “You can’t make me dirty.”

Akira blinks stupidly, that flickering warmth from earlier swelling and spreading, taking root in the hollow of his chest. Then he grabs Akechi by the hair and hauls him down, crashing their mouths together.

Akechi moans into the kiss, rippling around Akira’s cock as he struggles to maintain his tempo, and Akira works one finger into his ponytail and yanks it loose, flinging the elastic away. Soft, honey brown hair cascades in a warm curtain around their faces and Akira buries his hand in the messy locks, licking deep into Akechi’s mouth.

Propping on foot on the edge of the table, Akira angles a hard thrust into Akechi’s body, chasing the pleasure creeping through his limbs and pooling in his gut. Akechi pants into his open mouth, their teeth knocking together as the space between them fogs and fills with stilted, abortive cries.

Below them, the table creaks and sways loudly with each frantic motion.

When Akira lands a particularly sharp stroke, Akechi slams his hand against the wood beside Akira’s head. “ _Fuck_ —!”

“Are you close?” Akira asks, voice strangled.

“Yeah—” Akechi tips his head back, eyes fluttering closed, and Akira nips at his chin. “I’m—I’m—oh _god_ —”

The muscles in Akira’s grasp lock up, Akechi’s thighs quivering as he rocks back onto Akira’s cock and bears down. One hand fists in Akira’s shirt and Akira tugs Akechi down onto his chest, hazily savoring the radiant burn of his flushed skin even though the layers of their clothes.

“Go on—give it up, Vice President Akechi—” Akira murmurs in Akechi’s ear, pistoning in and out of Akechi’s spasming body. “Come on—come for me—”

A violent shudder wracks Akechi’s frame, coiling him even tighter around Akira, and as he falls apart, the heat building in Akira’s core surges blindingly. He slams home, burying himself to the hilt, and lets the wave overflow with a cracked moan.

Distantly, he feels Akechi convulse, spine bowing, but Akira’s own climax sweeps his senses away under a rush of white-hot pleasure. His ears pop, stars bursting on the insides of his eyelids, and he’s pretty sure he _screams_ as he releases into Akechi’s twitching ass.

Heart hammering, Akira clutches Akechi against himself, and for an insane second, he thinks he may never let go.

Then Akechi rouses, humming low in his chest. Akira rubs their cheeks together, tilting his head to nose at Akechi’s temple, and sucks in a deep breath, imagining the fresh air swirling through his limbs, dousing the sparking heat still keeping him pinned to the table.

“Well—” Akechi croaks, “I suppose that was—”

A hollow splitting sound cuts him off, and Akira barely as time to meet Akechi’s startled gaze before—

* * *

The world upends itself, pitching violently sideways, and Akira tightens his grip on Goro in a panic, stomach swooping as the table underneath them buckles suddenly, sending them rolling off in a flurry of paper.

Akira’s pretty sure he knocks every bone in his body against the floor before he finally thuds onto his back, punching the air out of his lungs.

For a second, he can only lie there, stunned, as papers drift to the floor around them.

“What the _fuck_ —” Then Goro is squirming in his arms, and a sharp pressure around Akira’s cock lets him know that they’re still connected.

Wincing, Akira moves his grip to Goro’s arms. “Hold on, hold on, _ah—_!”

“Oh, shit—” Goro sits up quickly, peering at Akira’s face with open concern. “Are you okay?”

“My—you’re still—”

Goro looks down bemusedly. “Oh. Sorry.”

Cautiously, Goro lifts himself up, and Akira hisses at the slide of his rim against every inch of his overstimulated length. Finally, they’re both free, and Goro shifts to the side, rubbing at his knee and glaring daggers at the wreckage of the table beside them. From the looks of it, at least two of the legs collapsed, leaving the whole thing slumped at a dramatic slope.

“Damn thing must be cursed,” Goro mutters. “Last time we used it, your cuffs broke, remember?”

“I do. I’d say this was a little more traumatic, though.” Stiffly, Akira pushes himself into a sitting position and tucks himself back into his pants. “Are you hurt?” he asks, scanning Goro critically. His instinct had been to wrap himself around his boyfriend, but Goro has legs for miles and Akira is just one man.

Fortunately, despite looking put-out, Goro seems fine, sitting beside him in nothing but his turtleneck, jacket, and loafers, hair in disarray. “No. I may have banged a few things on the way down, but—”

“I’ll say.”

Goro swats lightly at Akira’s arm and Akira laughs hoarsely, catching his wrist.

“Did you hit your head?”

“No, I’m fine, but—” Goro slides his free hand into Akira’s hair, probing at his scalp with gentle fingers. “You crashed down pretty hard, plus I was on top of you—”

“I’m okay,” Akira assures him. “It was more a...roll than an actual fall.”

“Don’t forget, _you’re_ the one that picked up that table.”

Akira snags Goro’s hand out of his hair and tugs his boyfriend closer, brushing their noses together. “I’m so sorry,” he says against Goro’s lips. “How can I make it up to you?”

Goro hums thoughtfully. “I don’t know...I worked so hard to set everything up—these uniforms weren’t easy to get a hold of, you know. And the print-outs—” Goro frees one hand and reaches down to slide a scattered piece of paper against the hardwood in illustration. “Should I punish you for jinxing the scene I prepared so diligently?”

“You might have to. That is your job, right, Vice President Akechi?”

“I’ll think about it and inform you once I reach a decision.”

“Looking forward to it.” Wrapping his arms around Goro’s waist, Akira falls backward with a long groan.

Dragged down with him, Goro slots against his side on the floor, head resting in the hollow of Akira’s shoulder. “What are you doing? We need to clean up.”

“I know, just—” Akira takes a deep breath, closing his eyes and pressing Goro against him, “—give it a minute.”

Goro acquiesces without protest, settling in as a warm, breathing shape bearing Akira into the floor. After a second, Akira feels the gentle drum of fingertips on his chest, almost ticklish through his shirt and blazer, and Akira lets the tiny vibrations skitter through him as his pulse slows.

Their afterglow was rudely interrupted by the faulty table, so Akira takes advantage of Goro’s indulgence now, tangling their legs together and carding his fingers through Goro’s messy hair. The last lingering embers of his orgasm drift through him, warming his body like sand under the sun, until he feels like he could sink right through the floorboards. Only Goro’s solid weight keeps him anchored.

A few hazy moments wash over them, the quiet broken only by their breathing. Goro breathes a little faster than Akira, his lung capacity permanently reduced from the injury that nearly killed him all those years ago, so their patterns never quite match up, but, to Akira, the dissonance is a song.

Akira is loath to break the calm, but it’s not long before the words in his head won’t be ignored, and he swallows dryly. “If we had gone to the same school—” he starts softly, “—do you think things might have been different?”

Goro stirs against his side, flattening his palm on Akira’s chest. “Even though we attended different schools, we still managed to see a lot of each other. So I don’t know how much _more_ interaction could have changed things.”

“Yeah.” Akira sweeps his thumb over the rise of Goro’s shoulder. “You’re probably right.”

“And I wouldn’t have been on the student council anyway. The school I attended wouldn’t have impacted my...other responsibilities.”

“Not to mention, you probably would have uncovered our identities sooner.”

“Actually, had I been a student at Shujin, you may have never needed to resort to such dramatic lengths to expose that teacher.” Goro picks his head up, resting his chin on Akira’s clavicle and fixing him with shining crimson eyes. “I would have handled that situation myself.”

A crooked smile lifts Akira’s mouth. “I would have paid to see that.”

“To think, I could have eliminated the Phantom Thieves before they even came into existence just by transferring schools.”

“Honestly, if it wasn’t Kamoshida, it would have been something else.”

Goro snorts before shifting up Akira’s body and bracing his arms on either side of Akira’s head, caging him in, their faces centimeters apart. “That school wasn’t very nice to you,” he says, staring intently.

“It got better.” Akira skates his hands along Goro’s back, up and down. “After a while.”

“You should have never had to go through that.”

Akira presses his lips together in a thin line. “Neither of us should have. We were both just kids.”

“It’s pointless to dwell on imaginary scenarios, but I wish I could have spared you...all of it. Had I been there—” Goro’s eyes dart to the side, color rising on his cheeks.

“Would you have protected me?” Akira urges.

“I like to think I would have. Things were complicated back then, but I don’t want to believe I would have just allowed something like that to happen.”

Akira brings one hand between them, brushing some of Goro’s loose hair behind his ear and cradling the side of his face. “I wish I could tell my high school self what was coming,” he whispers, guiding Goro’s head down to tap their foreheads together. “That if he just hangs in there, through all of that mess, everything is going to work out.”

“You’d make him go through everything you did?” Goro asks softly.

“If it still leads here?” Akira smiles. “Yes.”

Humming, Goro traces his fingers into Akira’s curls. “Still seems a little cruel. I know all of the horrible things he has to look forward to.”

“You’re worth more than every bad thing that ever happened to me.”

“Even the ones I caused?”

“Especially those. I wouldn’t trade those for anything.”

Goro huffs out an incredulous breath but doesn’t argue. “Then it’s probably good that I didn’t go to Shujin. Who knows how our fates could have been affected.”

“You’re right. Though I wouldn’t have minded spending more time with you.”

“We could go in circles forever thinking about what might have happened. Let’s just make up for all the time we missed now.”

“Yes, Vice President Akechi.”

Goro pinches Akira’s cheek and Akira tips his head up to catch Goro’s mouth with his own, pressing every missed chance and what-if into the kiss.

Sometimes Akira does mourn what could have been—if they had met sooner, if they’d spent more time together, if he had been smarter or faster or calmer—but in the end, Akira muses, lying on the floor of his apartment beside a table they just fucked to pieces, as he folds his boyfriend tighter to his chest, with warm evening light sifting through the window, he wouldn’t change a thing.

**Author's Note:**

> im not sure when the next one will come or even what it will be about but, as always, i appreciate your patience, support, and kind words.
> 
> come see me on [tumblr](https://mistresseast.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/MistressEast)! i'm always happy to answer questions or just chat!
> 
> and I have a [shuake playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3p9V57l6xBEpwQgDeN5mjH?si=zr3kxDadTvWt6lycCLtuvg) on spotify! it's a little long but i'm pretty fond of it. check it out if you want!


End file.
